


Finish It I Must

by forsimplicityssake



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I have a lot of feelings, Mentions of Character Death, especially about gleb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 04:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsimplicityssake/pseuds/forsimplicityssake
Summary: All those years ago when his father shook his head and told him not to ask, Gleb Vaganov knew that his father had not indeed died of shame for the reasons originally assumed.A letter, a pistol, and a photograph will lead Gleb down a path he never thought he’d take and now, now a blue-eyed, stubborn women becomes so much more than he could’ve ever thought.





	Finish It I Must

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello and welcome to the feels pits of hell. I recently saw Anastasia and I can't even explain how many emotions I have about Gleb. I went into the theater hoping for a roaring rendition of 'Journey to the Past' and came out emotionally compromised.
> 
> This is loosely based on a Tumblr prompt I saw floating around and gosh darn it, I can't find it so if it's yours, please give a shout so I can credit. (I don't want to give away the prompt too quickly.) I have a general idea where this is going, but beyond that, nada. So enjoy the ride and please feel free to give any constructive thoughts. Really, this is my first time in this fandom, so it's about to get messy.

Russian summers were never the most luxurious things, but this most recent bout of seemingly perfect weather startled Stepan Vaganov. Crystalline blue skies and puffy white clouds appeared so out of place with the work he would be doing in less than a few hours. As he stood on the threshold of his doorway and peered towards the horizon, he could feel a bead of sweat form along his hairline and roll languidly down his face. The cigarette he held loosely in his right hand dangled, bouncing slightly with every twitch of his trigger finger. With a resigned sigh, Stepan brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, holding the scent of tobacco deeply in his lungs before letting out a long drawn exhale. 

He had considered this day for weeks now, knowing it would eventually come and yet not ever certain what emotions he should be anticipating when the moment arose. He was surprised to find himself oddly empty when he awoke to dappled sunlight this morning. He had been sure of few things, but one was always irrefutable: he should be full of pride for his country, his motherland, Russia. He would be involved in the work that would bring about a new, better century. He would have a hand in turning his homeland around for the better and creating a stronger, more unified people. No more tsars and outlandishly superfluous royalty with their careless spending and total disinterest in the true people of Russia. His actions today, along with those of his fellow comrades, would be noted as one of the finest moments of revolution in all history.

Yet, as Stepan turned to the sound of his wife’s voice and the laughter of his son, he couldn’t help but close his eyes.

A breeze picked up rustling the line of birch trees along the drive and Stepan took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out. This night would be a night that changed everything.

“Papa,” came a gentle call.

Stepan looked behind him to see his son, his precious boy, waiting for him in the doorway. Now a man at the age of 18, Gleb was becoming an identical copy of his father. The pair almost stood eye-to-eye, with Gleb looking down to meet his father’s gaze, and Stepan was filled with pride knowing that his son would grow to become a great leader in this new government they would form.

“Yes, _moy syn,_ ” Stepan replied. 

“Are you going away tonight?” Gleb almost appeared worried and Stepan would’ve believed the idea if only his son wasn’t so fearless. Gleb took a half step towards his father and dropped his gaze to Stepan’s hip where a small pistol was strapped. Though Gleb wasn’t entirely aware of what his father was a part of, he knew that if the rumors spreading around St. Petersburg and the smaller outlying towns were to be believed, a great day was coming for Russia.

Stepan watched Gleb’s dark eyes as they moved cautiously across his body. “I am." 

From behind Gleb, a petite woman came into view, her dark, wild curls matching those of her son’s. 

“Irena…” Stepan whispered. 

Their marriage had known few hardships and even fewer secrets, but tonight’s actions were kept quietly away from his family. Irena knew little of what was happening, but enough to suspect.

She gave her husband a tight smile before offering, “I’ve made stew, Stepan. Perhaps you are ready for a small meal before your journey?”

Stepan nodded slightly and made his way towards the door. As he passed Gleb, his son’s hand darted out to grasp his forearm. Stepan shot a quick glance to his side and was met with the most fearsome set of eyes; the color a mirror to his own, but the ferocity held within belonged to Irena.

“Let me come,” was the short, hurried whisper.

Stepan pulled back as though scalded by boiling water and peered at his son with confusion.

When he finally regained his train of thought, Stepan’s brow furrowed and he responded, “Absolutely not.”

“Why, Papa?” Gleb’s voice was rising, a trait that made him an excellent public speaker, but a disastrous debater.

Irena watched the interaction between her husband and son with tense concern before catching a look from Stepan and excusing herself.

Stepan’s arm went slack and Gleb slowly released his hold, fingers coming to hang limply at his side. Stepan knew how Gleb felt about the coming revolution and how much love and devotion he held for Russia. Gleb had been clipping closely to his father’s footsteps ever since he was a young boy, however, Stepan wasn’t sure he wanted his son to witness this, _himself_ , as he would. While his task tonight would no doubt be remembered as right and just, the physical action itself would be… Stepan wasn’t sure. This was unlike any warfare he had ever engaged in before. There would be women and children, monstrous filth of Russia, but all the same, Stepan could picture them whenever he looked at his wife and son. It the most shameful thought, but Stepan had been wrestling with for as long as this plan had been laid out. 

“I’m ready,” Gleb cut into Stepan’s thoughts. The older man’s eyes snapped upward at Gleb’s firm sincereness.

There was no doubt in his mind that Gleb was indeed ready to do whatever was needed of him for the better of their country, but was Stepan ready for Gleb?

A rushed sigh left Stepan’s lips and he almost smiled wearily. “I know you’re ready, _moy syn_.”

“Then please, Papa, allow me to accompany you. Allow me to see what a good and loyal Russian must do for their homeland.”

How Stepan wished he could go back to the days when Gleb was but a boy, all knees and elbows, laughing carelessly whenever he wished. Now, he looked and saw a hardened man with steely determination and a propensity to hold in his feelings. What those aristocratic villains had done to his boy.

Stepan considered Gleb for a few minutes and watched as his son straightened his posture, pulling his shoulders back and squaring his face. Torn between the duty of a father and the duty of a Bolshevik, Stepan realized with distraught resignation that he could not deny his son’s request.

“...you may come.”

Gleb’s eyes immediately were alight from within at his father’s words and broad smile formed on his face dimpling his cheeks. Stepan could tell Gleb was trying his best to reign in his excitement and show he was a man of calculated emotion, but the young child inside was beaming with joy at the prospect of accompanying his father on such an important task.

“We leave at midnight,” Stepan continued, “so it’s best to have some stew and perhaps rest for a few hours.”

Gleb couldn’t have rested even if Lenin himself commanded it, but he gave a curt nod all the same and turned to go inside and help his mother set the table. Before fully departing, he gave a glance over his shoulder and murmured with the same tenderness he used to speak with as a boy, “Thank you, Papa.”

Stepan watched him go, a sinking feeling deep within his stomach. In a few short hours, everything would be different. This country, the future, and his son.


End file.
